


A Lyrium Liaison

by glowsdicks



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, GhooOOOOOooost Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowsdicks/pseuds/glowsdicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke, captivated by the beauty she sees whenever Justice takes control over Anders, convinces the Fade spirit to let her paint him. However, due to the unconscionable amount of lyrium she makes a habit of imbibing, Justice soon realizes that the song he hears from raw lyrium is present in her hair. And then the porn stuff happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lyrium Liaison

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy ho, intrepid pornhounds! This fanfiction is the work of tumblr users insipid-drivel and f0rmaldehyde-art as part of a collaborative work for the blog glowsdicks.tumblr.com where a gorgeous and profoundly-sinful painting can be found illustrating the following work! Check it out at http://glowsdicks.tumblr.com/pwp-1

She swallowed thickly at the sound of metal clasps and feather pauldrons falling to the floor. A mass of angry, biting butterflies had nested firmly in her stomach and gnawed at the underside of her lungs. The nervousness eating away at her sanity was enough to drive her to distraction.

 

“Is this sufficient?” Justice’s low, resonating voice carried over the top of her easel and caused at least one or two of the butterflies in her abdomen to explode. Megaera violently cleared her throat and peeked over at the Fade spirit, who now stood naked in Anders’s body and stared down at her with engulfing, phosphorescent eyes.

 

She cleared her throat again. “Yes, thank you. Have a seat, if you like,” she said, gesturing at a wooden chair stationed a few feet away. “And make sure to find a comfortable position. I need you stationary while I draw.”

 

Justice remained standing, his (or rather, Anders’s) body going stock still save for the faint rise and fall of his chest. His eyes lacked any true definition with how their azure fires blazed, but something in the back of her mind told her he was staring directly at her. Briefly, she wondered if the intensity of his gaze might actually ignite her head.

 

Her hands were shaking. She had drawn spirits and demons a hundred times before, but never one she knew personally. Justice was a friend - a confidant; and although his ethereal body was little more than light and smoke, seeing him encapsulated in a living, breathing, profoundly _male_ body made her forget that her empyrean friend was little more than virtue given sentience.

 

The first line she attempted to put down on canvas came out stuttering and jagged. She growled irately and reached over to her nearby desk, grabbing up a bottle of lyrium and ripping the cork from it with her teeth. The stuff tasted like syrupy water laced with copper and iron; tangy, metallic, but lacking of any true taste. However, simply sipping it was enough to steady her reluctant fingers and dash away the nervous chill in her extremities. The next line was smooth and purposeful. _Much better._

 

“Do you always imbibe lyrium when you paint?” Justice asked, his commanding baritone slightly judgmental.

 

“Lyrium or opium,” she answered with an emboldened wink.

 

He didn’t seem impressed.

 

She coughed.

 

As the minutes ticked by in tense silence, Anders’s face and Justice’s light came forth from beneath her pen like poetry from Varric’s tongue. The seams of brilliant blue light erupting from his skin, to her mind, made their shared body more beautiful; like punctuation. When Justice was present, those Fade-bright shards of effervescence gave the eye pause to force an appreciation and an awe that would otherwise go ungiven.

 

She didn’t realize, but throughout the course of her sketching, Megaera repeatedly murmured things like, “perfect”, “lovely”, and “beautiful”, under her breath.

 

Justice didn’t seem to mind her appreciative mutterings. Anders was prone to talking under his breath when he wrote, and he assumed that she no doubt was speaking with regard to her own work rather than her subject. He had heard her whisper similar praises to all manner of creatures she painted, and upon seeing her work completed, he found himself surprised to agree with her. There was a way to her style of painting that caught its viewer off guard with how she could dredge up the inner loveliness of even the most hideous of creatures.

 

He hoped she might do the same for him.

 

“Alright,” Megaera announced, looking back up from her easel and offering him a small smile. “I think now is a good time for a break. My hand is cramping.”

 

“I may move, then?” he asked, keeping his jaw tight and preventing his mouth from moving more than necessary.

 

“Yes,” she nodded, rolling her wrist in her hand as she got up and made for a rumpled blanket piled on top of a bench. She gathered it up in her arms, keeping her eyes firmly plastered on anywhere _above_ his waist as she passed it to him. “Here, wrap up in this until we start again.”

 

“Why?” he asked, blinking at her and then at the blanket in mute confusion.

 

She opened her mouth to answer, but really couldn’t come up with any sensible explanation that would appease the spirit. “Well, I just thought you may want to cover up... for warmth, or modesty - assuming you’ve developed some sense of it over the years in a human body.”

 

“I am not cold,” Justice stated evenly, but took the blanket from her all the same. “But... thank you. For having a care for my comfort,” he confessed, glancing in the direction of her mysteriously-obscured easel and canvas with blatant curiosity.

 

Following the turn of his head, Megaera’s smile widened. “Would you like to see?”

 

“Yes,” he nodded, wrapping her proffered blanket around himself. She choked back a small chortle when the light shining through his skin illuminated the quilt with a soft glow from the body beneath it.

 

Justice’s eyes widened a fraction when he sat down in her seat and drank in the beginnings of his portrait. She had yet to add any color, but the life she breathed into something as simple as a cluster of dark lines was enough to cause him to reach up and touch his own face. Unsure if his expression was good or bad, Megaera sidled in, a flash of shyness coloring her face. “Do you like it?”

 

His head canted to one side, his lips pursing and relaxing as his brow furrowed and unfurrowed. It was almost as though he were trying to read some sort of script hidden in the grand design of her portrait. “I do not understand how you are capable of this level of accuracy,” he admitted at length, turning his eyes to her face, and then to her hands.

 

She cocked an eyebrow and looked at her burgeoning painting. “You’re not going to accuse me of blood magic again, are you?”

 

“Show me,” he insisted, taking up her pen and holding it out to her. “I wish to see how this is done.”

 

“I- _what?_ Uhm, well... I-I suppose,” she stuttered, rocking back on her heels as he slid the pen in her hand. Stepping between Justice and her portrait, she tilted her head to and fro; studying his face and the one on the canvas over and over again as her frustration built. The angle was all _wrong._ How could she possibly hope to accurately paint the seams of light on his face when he wasn’t in the right position?

 

Tucking her pen behind her ear, she turned to face him and gently caught his jaw in her hands. Justice seemed surprised, but allowed her to gradually tilt his head back until he was looking up at her straight-on with her thumbs delicately roaming over his cheekbones. The contrast between Anders’s coarse stubble and the warm, silken light crackling along Justice’s face caught her by surprise. _Light so profound and dense it’s physically tangible. I’ll have to write that down._

 

Satisfied that Justice’s features were adequately burned into her retinas, she did a swift turn and, with a flick of her wrist to draw her pen, she began sketching the details of Justice’s face for the spirit to watch. “It’s harder to draw from memory than it is from a model,” she explained, licking her lips and glancing back at his face to ensure she got the line of his ear just right. “Ah, almost forgot...” she mumbled, adding the faint scar left behind on his earlobe from a time when Anders wore a gilded earring.

 

Justice shifted from behind her, and she was suddenly acutely aware of a wall of heat right against her back. Her hand froze as she glanced over her shoulder to regard him curiously. “I swear it isn’t blood magic. It’s just muscle memory,” she said hastily, fearing that he might mistake her for using magic as a means to draw him.

 

The blanket shrouding Justice’s shoulders fell to the ground as he leaned forward against her back. As her eyes went wide and face turned redder than the broad side of a rage demon’s arse, the Fade spirit reached out and gently clasped his fingers around her drawing hand. His large hands perfectly molded to fit her clenched fist, and his thumb and forefinger came to rest over her own.

 

“Uh...”

 

“Continue,” he urged, resting his other hand on her shoulder.

 

“What-”

 

“I have seen how it is done. Now I wish to feel it,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Continue drawing.”

 

_Oh, Maker,_ her inner monologue wheezed as the light issuing from his abdomen permeated through the back of her tunic and whispered down her spine. Her hands were beginning to shake again, and she instinctively reached out for her half-empty bottle of lyrium.

 

Justice caught her wrist to stop her. “You did well enough without it a moment ago,” he rumbled witheringly. “I will not impede your ability to draw, you have my word.”

 

But she could feel his pulse in the pads of his fingers against her nail beds. His shallow breath on her neck wasn’t exactly easily ignored, either. Not to mention the fact that she knew there was a stark-naked Fade spirit pressed so firmly against her back that there was scarcely a hair’s breadth between them.

 

She cleared her throat. Hard. “Very well.”

 

Her voice still cracked.

 

_Damn._

 

Surprisingly, though, he remained true to his word. When she moved to detail the shadows on the side of his neck, she had absolutely no trouble in moving at all. Next, she added the shading beneath the curve of his lower lip; lightly cross-hatching to make way for paint to be applied later on.

 

His fingers were still wrapped around her other wrist.

 

_Focus._

 

The steady staccato of his heart thudded against her back.

 

_Focus..._

 

She felt his cheek brush against the side of her hair.

 

_I miss Temerity._

 

The hand he had gently wrapped around her pen gradually withdrew until the palm of his hand was flush with the fat of her forearm. Slowly, his hands moved further until they both rested lightly on her shoulders with his fingers tangled in her hair.

 

She felt his nose nuzzle into her hair, and heard a long, quiet rumble.

 

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?” she asked, trying to sound lighthearted but discovering that she sounded more frantic and terrified. She withdrew her pen from the canvas and set it down, too nervous to even try to continue working on the portrait in front of her.

 

There was another deep rumble that vibrated from the spirit’s chest. She could feel the heat of his breath against her scalp as those damned, calloused fingers crept up the back of her neck in order to tangle further in her hair.

 

“Are you... purring?” she wheezed.

 

He stiffened and went still as stone. “Forgive me,” he murmured, “your hair...”

 

“Oh. _Oh!”_ she gasped, remembering the night they’d met outside of Amaranthine. Barely a few strands of her hair had proven to possess a sweet siren’s call to the spirit, but now that he was in direct contact with an entire head full of lyrium-lined strands...

 

Justice let out a soft sigh and pressed against her back, combing his fingers through her hair almost worshipfully. Slowly, the tension in her shoulders melted away. The sensation of having her hair played with was shockingly pleasant. “I only ask that you avoid cutting it,” she quipped, smiling faintly and shutting her eyes when the Fade spirit began petting her scalp with his rough, calloused hands.

 

“It loses its song after it’s cut,” Justice said, his voice so soft it barely sounded like him at all.

 

“Does it?” Her eyes opened as she tilted her head back to try and catch a glimpse of him. “How long after it’s cut?”

 

“Three days,” he replied quietly. “It is unfortunate.”

 

“No doubt,” she murmured, leaning back against his chest because standing on her own was just too much bloody effort. Especially after he found a spot a little way behind her ear that made a strange noise come from the back of her throat and shivers course up and down her spine and the butterflies in her stomach explode into spurts of colored lights.

 

She noted the sound of her artist’s chair being moved forward. With little more than the threat of losing the delicious sensation against her scalp, she readily sat down in Justice’s lap. His hands caught her waist and eased her back against his chest again, ensuring there was absolutely no space between them before his breath returned to the back of her head.

 

She could have so easily fallen asleep leaned against him that way.

 

Until she heard him rumble against the nape of her neck and felt something unmistakable against her lower back.

 

The voice inside of her mind made a very unflattering noise as her eyes flew open and every drop of blood in her body flooded to her face. Her fingers gripped the fabric of her leggings as her spine straightened bolt-upright. “Perhaps I should get back to the painting...” she squeaked.

 

“Stay,” Justice ordered lowly, curling one arm around her waist for insurance.

 

He rolled his hips.

 

_Maker’s balls._

 

“I really ought to start mixing paints, Justice,” she stammered. “I need to balance out the proper shades of blue just right in order to-”

 

_“Stay.”_

 

“Or I could do that, sure.”

 

The Fade spirit rumbled his approval, the arm he used to pin her against him going taut in order to reel her back flush against his chest. Her eyes darted to the half-empty vial of lyrium on the nearby table. _This is your fault, you know,_ she mentally hissed at it.

 

His hips rolled again.

 

_No lyrium. Never again. My research is suspended. I’m becoming a veterinarian._

 

The hair was pulled back from her shoulder to reveal the long, lean expanse of her neck hidden beneath the high, tight collar of her tunic. Those long, powerful fingers danced along the hem of her collar; just barely tickling her skin as his hand closed around her throat with a deceptively gentle grip.

 

“Justice...?” she whispered as his thumb and forefinger dimpled either side of her jaw. He tilted her head back, his mouth tracing the path of the part in her hair from back to front. Catching a glimpse of his eyes, she could see them half-lidded and smoldering with deep, dark blue. She shivered, shifting in her seat on his lap.

 

“Justice, h-how much of _this_ is you, and how much of this is Anders?” she asked hoarsely when he rumbled and rocked his hips again. _Furthermore, how much of this is about me, and how much of this is about the lyrium?_

 

“I do not know,” he whispered back, his voice almost lost within its own thundering echo. “I do not _wish_ to know.”

 

She bit her lip when his hips rolled yet again and shifted her weight to settle over the broad side of his thigh. The naturalist in her told her that this was merely the result of a spirit’s inherent obsessive nature and the biological responses of the male body. The moralistic, _nice_ person reminded her that these sort of antics only impeded her time for research.

 

The naturalist reminded the moralist that this _was_ research.

 

“ _Maker_ , Justice...!” she gasped as he ground his thigh into her groin and groaned in her ear. He began to unclasp the buttons running down the side of her collar; one by one, agonizingly slow, and with his lips trailing behind to explore the newly-exposed skin.

 

“Your pulse is strong,” he purred against her throat as he peeled open her collar and pressed his mouth over the hammering rhythm just underneath her jaw. “It bears the same rhythm as the lyrium song in your hair,” he added, his breath searing over her skin. _“I want...”_

 

Her breath caught in her throat. She’d only ever read about these things in Isabela’s insipid friend-fictions. In fact, she could swear she read that very same line in one starring herself paired with Fenris. “ _Lyrium Liaison”_ it had been titled.

 

“...You want?” she dared to ask.

 

He released a low, positively-animal growl. “ _You.”_

 

She shivered. Not some mild tremble, but a true shiver that spread from her lips to her toes and settled at the apex of her thighs. “Justice, I-”

 

His teeth sank into the flesh of her neck.

 

She moaned, her back arching as the Fade spirit growled in return. His tongue laved over the blossoming bruise before he quite literally _tore_ into her bodice. Her tough leather bodice that had spared her from knives and swords was reduced to useless scraps of hide with a single jerk of Justice’s wrist.

 

With a lightning-quick blur of motion, she found herself being spun and seated on the edge of her worktable after Justice unceremoniously swept away everything that might have been in the way. Her tunic hugged tight to her chest, dampened by the thin sheen of sweat that had blossomed on her skin. But Justice did no more to undress her; to her surprise, he barely even moved.

 

He loomed over her, his hands on either side of her thighs as his sulphurous azure eyes blazed in the dim light. The heat of his gaze made her heart flutter and the bruise on her neck throb. She bit her lip, leaning back on one hand in an attempt at finding some sort of fresh air free of Justice’s overpowering aura of light and raw dominance.

 

Still, he stared. Not at her body, nor at her hair, but _directly_ into her eyes. The sudden calm that had overtaken him was enough to make her head spin. Now, she wondered what ran through his mind. Was he waiting for something? Expecting something from her?

 

Slowly, his eyes moved from her face to the only object left untouched on the desk: the vial of lyrium.

 

He picked up the small bottle of blue liquid and removed the cork from its neck. With a careful tilt, he eased a few drops into the palm of his hand and smeared a little between his fingers. The stuff was viscous; it clung to his skin like oil and shimmered in the light.

 

Satisfied with whatever he had been testing, he touched the lip of the lyrium bottle to her lower lip. “Drink,” he said, coaxing her to wrap her fingers around the bottle. “Only a little, and do not swallow it.”

 

... _What?_

 

Bewildered, she could do little more than obey; taking a small mouthful of the lyrium potion before he took the bottle back from her and set it aside. Then, he caught the back of her neck and reeled her into a long, lazy kiss.

 

She groaned into his mouth, tentatively lifting her hands to cradle his jaw and hold him to her. His tongue parted her lips, guiding the trickle of lyrium along his tongue and coaxing another growl from the back of his throat. He carded his fingers through her hair and pulled her in close until her legs were wrapped around his waist.

 

The laziness of their kiss quickly burned away. Her fingers knotted in his hair and did away with the band holding it halfway up. The buttons of her tunic came undone with some being forcibly ripped from the fabric if they proved too difficult to master with Justice’s eyes closed. The laces holding her leggings closed were snapped and torn from their bindings, and her boots were thrown from her feet so hard she heard a rather disconcerting _crash_ from somewhere across the room.

 

He released a hot breath against her chin as he pried his mouth from hers and tugged her head back by her hair. The fiery burn of lips and teeth and tongue descended down her neck. The chilly bite of liquid lyrium rolled down her breasts and stomach, quickly chased by the spirit’s mouth as he sucked and licked and bit his way down the length of her body.

 

Proud as she may have been of her self-discipline, she could do nothing to stop the wantonness from bursting from her lips every time he nipped at her flushed skin or dipped his tongue into some crevasse she didn’t even realize she cared about.

 

And then, he came upon a small bundle of nerves and tissue right between her thighs that made the candles in the room roar and the windows frost over when he rolled it under his tongue. Her hands and eyes flared with crimson light that could do nothing more than burn and crackle when he dipped his tongue inside of her and curled his fingers against something deep within her belly that she’d only ever heard stories about. “Maker, _Justice!”_ she crooned, her thighs hugging tight to either side of his head in a desperate attempt to convince him he should do it again.

 

He snatched the bottle of lyrium from the table again and poured a stream of it down her navel. But, instead of simply drinking it as he had done before, he smeared his fingers in it before guiding them back inside her.

 

Tiny arcs of electricity began to dance along his hands.

 

She could have laughed. Cried. Screamed. In fact, she was fairly certain she did scream in just about every note of ecstasy the human voice was capable of. She wanted to mewl Justice’s name over and over again, but she also wanted to curse Anders. The pleasure was _blinding_ and _maddening_ and _Maker, I will pay you money to keep doing that._ The lyrium coating her skin conducted the sparks of magical electricity so strongly the raw, orgasmic sensation of it made her ears ring.

 

When Justice withdrew his fingers from her and stood, she couldn’t even find the strength to sit up. At some point, she had collapsed back on the table, and now looked up at him with her chest heaving and her lungs aching and her eyes watering. Tracks of tears ran down either side of her head and dampened the hair at her temples. Now, all she could do was stare, bleary-eyed and whimpering incoherently, up at him.

 

He leaned forward and eased her back up, pulling her into a biting, demanding kiss as he dashed away the tears from her eyes and brought her legs back around his hips. He rocked forward, that same purring noise issuing from his chest as the underside of his member stroked against the slit of her vulva, covering him in her fluids and the lingering traces of lyrium.

 

His hand caught her jaw, guiding her to look straight into his eyes. “Look at me,” he insisted, the fire in his eyes so bright it tricked out over his eyelids and crackled into the air above his head. “And do not look away.”

 

His entry was slow. Agonizingly slow. It made her hate him and love him and bless him and curse him as he seemed to count the centimeters in lazy succession. She wanted so badly to shove her hips forward; to roll her eyes back in her head and gasp at the sudden, abrupt fullness.

 

“Do not look away.”

 

She nearly swallowed her own tongue. Nodding, she forced her eyes forward to stare straight into his. She shuddered and groaned and panted when he at last eased forward that last centimeter and had no more progress to make. Again, he rumbled within his chest and threaded his fingers in her hair; studying her with absolute fascination.

 

“You’re not going to make me beg, are you?” she asked, grimacing as she dug her nails into his shoulders and tried desperately hard not to plead for him to take her.

 

He hummed and touched his lips to the corner of her mouth, lingering there as he rolled his hips back and thrust forward experimentally.

 

It was his turn to gasp.

 

He rocked his hips to and fro again; slow, but not painfully so as he seemed to take his time in savoring the feeling. She saw his eyes flutter closed as his lips parted with another tight, strangled moan. “I see...” he breathed, speaking to himself like he’d had some grand epiphany.

 

“It feels even better if you go faster, Justice,” she goaded promisingly. He looked back at her like he suspected her of treachery, but began to thrust his hips faster and harder until she couldn’t even hold her head up straight and he was whispering in some ancient language that didn’t belong in Thedas.

 

Her back met the top of the table as Justice bit out another word that she didn’t understand. He forced her legs tight around his waist and caught her hips tight enough to leave hand-shaped bruises later. Her back raked against the wooden table top with every thrust, and each time he pounded home birthed a new nebula of stars in her eyes. She grabbed at his forearms, her fingernails digging into his skin and holding on for dear life as every move he made caused her very identity to come unraveled in her mind.

 

She felt it, then; an almost-foreign tension coiling and stretching and dashing away all grasp of the common tongue in favor of incoherent mewling and praying and sweet, keening begging. The light coming from the seams in Justice’s skin intensified; glowing brighter and brighter until she could only distinguish a faint outline of a man beneath the blurring, smoldering spirit fire clutching and filling her.

 

Her broken cry was loud enough to wake half the neighborhood. Hazy and riding the currents of wave after wave of bliss, she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood as she felt the spirit release with a deafening, ground-shaking growl.

 

Megaera’s eyes widened in wonder. For the briefest of moments, Anders’s body had been overtaken by light and, in the roiling fire, she could swear she saw a tall, looming, positively-angelic man with eyes like sapphires looking back at her.

 

The light disappeared altogether. Staggering forward and slumping with his head tucked into her shoulder, Justice let out one last long, contented groan before the seams of light on his skin sealed shut.

 

For a long while, they lay there panting and too exhausted to move. But, just as the candle on her desk fizzled out, the body on top of her shifted and a pair of warm, whiskey-bright eyes blinked down at her.

 

“...Hawke?” Anders rasped.

 

“Good evening, Anders,” she greeted cordially.

 

The mage groaned and pinched his eyes shut for a moment before settling back down on her chest. “How did the painting go?”

 

“I think we’ll have to finish it tomorrow.”


End file.
